


Aevus

by hellzabeth, orphan_account



Series: Aevus [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellzabeth/pseuds/hellzabeth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Non-Nation AU, very loosely inspired by Ai no Kusabi. In a world divided by hair colour, far into the future of the human race, how do people live? How do they love? How do they, eventually, die? Neither light nor dark is entirely good. How much either way remains to be seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yao

**Author's Note:**

> When we say loosely inspired we do mean *very* loosely inspired. The only concepts taken from the Ai no Kusabi universe are the name of Tanagura, the hierarchy of Blondies and Darkies, and the concept of the Pet trade. The rest is purely made up. If you are here only for the Ai no Kusabi elements, you may be disappointed. If you are unfamiliar with the Ai no Kusabi universe, you are encouraged to take note of the archive warnings before proceeding.

**Chapter One**  
Yao

Yao wasn’t sure how long he’d been awake when someone offered him a cigarette, nudging his shoulder and holding out a match for him. Everything was just happening in pieces and he wasn’t confident he was catching everything, even the offered cigarette only seemed to last a few seconds.

He must have slept a little, curled up on those steps with a group of others, because he didn’t remember being ushered into a truck until the same young man beside him spoke.

“How’d they get you?” He murmured, not looking at Yao but inclining his head.

“We tried to-” Yao began, before correcting himself. “Rioting. You?”

“Weapon possession.”

“They could have shot you.”

“When they need living disposables?”

Yao looked over at him. He was young, maybe younger than Yao by a year or so, and he wore his hair like one friend of his, in long dread locks held back with a bandana, but he spoke with a tone which was far too world weary for his face. 

Naturally.

\------

They slept in the alarmingly sterile food hall. There just wasn’t enough room.

The white lights that crossed the hundreds of bodies every few seconds burned the back of his eyes, and it was as cold as anything. The footsteps of the guards were out of sync and brought a threat with them whenever they passed.

“What’s your name?” He said to the ceiling. There was a pause before his new found companion shifted a little beside him.

“Marco.”

“I’m Yao.”

It helped a bit.

\------

Six weeks later he’d been deemed better for picking apart old solar cells for recycling than for more manual labour where Marco had been detained, so for the majority of the day his company was a dozen other darkies who seemed happier to keep silent, and two dark blonde guards.

The cells had to be pried apart by hand, and they left a grey discharge which stained skin for days on end, but the unlucky one was whoever had to separate the pieces into containers at noon and dusk. Yao had tried to keep his pieces in piles until he began to get metal filings under his bitten nails, then he just dropped them on the table as soon as they cracked.

When Marco sat beside him at dinner the first thing he did was ask for cigarettes. The system was quickly weeding out the drug addicts among them, so ordinary tobacco was something of a comfort to those who needed more. Someone across the bench traded him two for his bread ration.

“Smoke won’t feed you,” Yao observed, already prodding his own mush with a spoon.

Marco snorted. “Neither will this shit by the looks of it.”

“It’s food. Eat it,” Interjected a kid beside him before Yao could open his mouth. He was drinking straight out of the bowl like a starved animal.

Turning, Marco told him to mind his own business and began the usual bickering. Yao rolled his eyes and carried on with his own food, soaking the bread in it to soften it.

The kid was right, regardless of the argument. Food was food, and you ate it when it appeared from nowhere without any effort on your part. Yao’s twins had made themselves sick by wolfing down too much food the day he had taken them home, ignoring his instructions to eat it slowly. After so long taking in so little their bodies had cramped and just rejected what had been piled into it so suddenly, but he couldn’t find the will to blame them.

Hopefully they were better off to feed themselves now....

Marco growled and, argument aside, copied the boy and drank his food straight from the bowl in large gulps, his face screwed up in disgust.

“You should eat it slow,” Yao told him again, albeit half heartedly around a mouthful of bread. “It lasts longer.”

“There’s gonna be more of it tomorrow,” Marco pointed out, earning himself an irritated look. He just shrugged and pressed one cigarette into Yao’s pocket. “These however won’t.”

The smaller darkie pulled it out again and rolled it around in his fingers. “Courtyard?”

“Courtyard; get me some air.”

The thing about Tanagura, especially so far down in the Undercity, was that although the heat rocketed to ridiculous heights during the day it could easily plummet to below freezing when the sun vanished. Even this early in the evening they could see their breath clouding in front of them, despite the fact the asphalt was still warm beneath their feet. It was a start, so they sat on the ground.

“I gotta get out of here,” Marco growled after a minute or so of silence. 

“They’ll shoot you.”

“Worth a try.”

Yao glowered at him before shrugging and taking the last drag of his cigarette, flicking it over the courtyard. “Take your chances then.”

\-----

More months later than Yao cared to count, came around a process that he’d only heard of in horror stories. At first he didn’t realise what was happening. 

They were age divided to begin with. Everyone underneath twenty five was sectioned off into another barrack, and any interaction was suddenly cut off. It wasn’t that alarming at first; there were always unexplained groupings, everyone just took it in stride.

Then there came the invasive prodding. 

Without any reason they began getting medical checks, something that had never happened before. People only got sent to the medical rooms when they were visibly sick, not for a check over. 

A Blondie inspector Yao had never seen before came over and around, scooting the darkie nurses out the way to check them over. But there was something about the manner he carried it out in. He checked over their teeth as if they were about to bite him, under their arms for skin rashes, their eyes, their hair, everything. 

After that the group was cut down again, and Yao became one of the eldest in the group at nineteen, veering down to the youngest at thirteen. Anyone with certain shade of hair had been taken away, and they were being narrowed down into a group of very distinct black and brown...

And a few days later they woke up in boxes.

\-----

Yao spent most of his time within the glass container curled tightly into a corner. Blondies of all heights and shades drifted past in the course of the morning, several stopping to look. On these occasions he was made to uncurl himself and stand straight, exposing himself to each and every Blondie in the crowd like an object on display.

Their eyes were disgusting. There was no spark of shame about them, no decency to even disguise their blatant staring. They might as well have been touching him with their prying hands. He couldn’t look at them and resorted to hiding behind his hair until he was bodily pulled away from the display area. He didn’t even see who bought him, the electronic sale was conducted elsewhere.

The guards gave him some loose white clothes to put on and then uncuffed his hands, allowing him to stretch his arms for the first time in nearly a week before marching him down through a corridor to a bright room with water decoration everywhere. He tried not to scowl at the wastage, of all things.

They were on a balcony of some sorts, in what looked liked a restaurant, and he was steered over to a table by the railing where the guards promptly left. Looking around in puzzlement, it wasn’t until one occupant of the table spoke that he remembered to actually look at them.

“Very thrifty, somehow,” mused a Blondie with curls that had been carefully pulled back into a ponytail. He was swirling a wine glass in one hand and tilting his head to the side while appraising Yao as if he was a piece of food. “Even for the ebony colour.”

“Back off frog,” snapped the other resident of the table, a smaller Blondie with a shade so dirty it was almost unfair. Yao jolted on looking at him; he wore the colours of the police, and on further inspection a sash that indicated high rank. “You’re the one who pointed him out.”

“I was looking in your price range,” smirked the taller one, taking a sip of his wine.

The smaller one tensed in the manner of a cat that had just had its tail trodden on, but managed to smile (albeit nastily). “I thought we agreed not to bring up matters of rank, cousin.” He was met with a shrug, which he seem to deem satisfactory before raising a hand to Yao. “Come here.”

Stepping forward, he wasn’t expecting hands on him. He jumped but managed to stay entirely still when the darker one touched his hip before drawing his hand to rest over Yao’s heartbeat, muttering to himself and looking Yao directly in the eyes for the first time. It wasn’t the same look as the other one had given him. This one wasn’t looking at him like an object, not exactly, but it was somehow even more unnerving. It was broken when the other other took one of his hands and made a displeased noise.

“I told you you shouldn’t have gone for the prison selection, look!” He tutted, holding Yao’s stained and scabbed hand out for his cousin to see. 

His counterpart shrugged - “That can be fixed.” - and went back to his meal, leaving Yao to stand behind him as they resumed their conversation. 

So these two were related, somehow. It didn’t seem possible from the difference in their shades, but Blondies were never related by proper genetics. They chose their family, keeping close to each other through business and wills, their ‘cousins’. Still it was unusual for such a large gap in shade and rank. 

He watched them, trying not to let the smell of such rich food provoke the growing nausea in his stomach. The uniform the smaller Blondie carried wasn’t making him feel any better.

“Come on then Captain,” trilled the taller one eventually, putting down his glass and standing. “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Down here we'll leave any names assigned to characters who in Hetalia don't have any. For example:  
> Marco = Cuba


	2. Yao

**Chapter Two  
Yao**

On entering the Captain’s house, Yao found himself immediately handed off to a painfully young, light haired darkie in a uniform he didn’t recognise but soon realised must be the servant’s clothing. 

“Clean him up,” snapped the Blondie, shrugging off his own coat and starting off up the stairs. “And bring him to my rooms. See if you can’t do something about his hands.”

The little darkie nodded his head and motioned for Yao to follow him, leading them down to a kitchen area where he called in several other servants, all as young and wide eyed as he was, and sent them off somewhere before turning back to Yao, who was standing warily in the doorway.

“I’m George, I’ll get you some food!” he smiled cheerfully. He had to be about seven or eight, but he spoke with confidence. Child servants, was there no lower level for Blondies to sink to? “You can sit. And don’t run or anything because then I have to do punishments, okay?”

Though he somewhat doubted that George could do much damage to anyone at his age, Yao did as instructed and forced himself to eat the bowl of food put in front of him, despite the knots in his stomach. 

He had noticed all the guards and every single locked door they had passed through on the way into the house. The ornate front doors were old fashioned, locked by simple keys, but the inside ones were electronic and there didn’t seem to be any way of opening them. He took the opportunity to try the windows when George briefly left the room, and found them similarly fastened.

On returning, George frowned at him. “Aren’t you gonna finish your dinner?” Yao stared at him and he shrugged. “Alright I guess, come on.”

He led Yao down yet another corridor to a fairly large bathroom, containing a large tub of steaming water and more shining brass then seemed necessary for a room just used for washing. There was another servant hovering and messing around with towels.

“Okay, in you go,” shrugged George. “Henry will sort out your hands and I’ll take your clothes.”

Yao gave him an incredulous look. “What?”

He was met with a confused expression. “I’ll take your clothes and Henry will sort out your hands while you bathe, come on.”

“I’m not just going to take my clothes off in front of you two. Can’t I just-” He glared at the large tub of water suspiciously. At home they would just wash out of the sink, and it was pretty much the same in prison. There was little or no reason to take all his clothes off at once. “Use the sink?”

George frowned. “You’re going to have to get used to it sooner or later. The water won’t kill you!”

After much shouting and hollering, he ended up in the bath, curled up tightly while the smaller servant rinsed his hands in a separate bowl. Whatever was in it, it was slowly lifting the stains off but leaving the skin beneath quite raw.

“It’s not that bad here,” chattered the boy brightly. “Compared to where you came from right?”

Yao didn’t answer him, and the pair remained in silence until George returned and (deeming him acceptable) led him through a maze of corridors and stairways until they reached an open door. George straightened the fire a little before giving him a small smile that looked slightly pitying and leaving him alone.

Again the windows were securely fastened, and the darkie cursed quietly under his breath. These rooms and walls were better locked and guarded than even prison had been, and his panic was beginning to bubble over.

“Better.”

The voice made him jump, and he turned to see the Blondie leaning against the doorway. When he came closer he was only a few inches taller than Yao, small for a Blondie, and he was wearing a strange expression somewhere between a smirk a genuine smile. 

“Much better,” he tried to take Yao’s chin in his hand but the darkie pulled his head back. He was met with a frown and a hand weaving into his hair, not painfully but hard enough to hold him in place. 

“If you behave-” the Blondie whispered, the fingers of his second hand reaching up the touch Yao’s heartbeat yet again. “-then there’s no reason for any unpleasantness. I am Arthur Kirkland, and I am your master now.” 

His hand crawled from Yao’s hair to touch his face - eyelids, cheek bones, mouth... - before dropping to splay against the small of his back. There was a moment of silence before he moved again, resting his head on Yao’s shoulder and breathing deeply. 

The darkie swallowed. Everything inside him was starting to ache. Until now he’d been following like a dog at the end of a leash, being led with no comprehension of these events, but here in this clean and neat room... It was all catching up with him. 

His shook his head, concentrating on breathing evenly, and when the hands returned to his face the resounding slap echoed into the silence that followed. Arthur touched his rapidly reddening cheek with a look of bewilderment before turning altogether more sour.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, in the same soft tone, and without warning took one of Yao’s wrists in a vice grip to turn him around and press them together, chest to back, and burying his face in Yao’s hair. “Don’t do that...”

Yao stayed stock still as the Blondie ran the very pads of his fingers across the his skin, eventually slipping them under the fabric of his clothes. He muttered to himself as he did so, too low and fast for Yao to catch. It didn’t help that the Blondie accent was so thick. When the two had been speaking at the table it had been easy, but now he was whispering it was hard to make out.

It was difficult not to flinch when the long fingers began to drift into more intimate places. There was no force, but it was just off. It felt wrong; faked. He’d done this for someone before; secure and warm and locked away in comforting darkness. But the dim light and soft touches all seemed so painfully far away from here. 

“Why are you making this difficult?” the Blondie asked, and for a moment he almost sounded hurt by Yao’s unresponsiveness. More silence simply frustrated him more, and his tone changed. “Just do as I say, alright?”

“No.”

In one deft movement, Arthur snatched the wrist he had held before and twisted it up behind Yao’s back, making him hiss. He knew Blondies were freakishly strong, but no one had ever mentioned they were fast. Arthur’s free hand pressed flat against his abdomen and he kicked back on reflex, only to have the Blondie shove them both down onto their knees to still the action. Once there, Arthur simply held his grip until Yao grew too exhausted to struggle anymore - the simple physical difference making it easy for him.

“I warned you,” Arthur said when the darkie stopped, struggling for breath, his free hand slipping beneath the thin fabric to where it had rested earlier above Yao’s heart. “Don’t fight me.”

His hand wandered, and Yao pulled against his grip only to be met with a further twist of his arm. He felt the Blondie exhale deeply against his ear and his whole body shuddered, straining to get away from the touch and turn his burning face away. 

Satisfied, Arthur withdrew his hand and rested his cheek again his new pet’s hair. “You’re mine now...” 

\--------

His room was bare, all the windows locked tight, the curtains drawn except for one. Yao stared out the window at the moon, taking in the craters and the blinking satellites that followed its path through the skies. He wondered if his twins were doing the same, staring at the sky, thinking of him. He wondered if they were safe. They had to be, or so he’d been convincing himself for his own sanity every night for the weeks since he’d got here. They were surely still out there, waiting for him in their little house with the red door. 

They were far from the helpless children he’d picked up off the street years ago, but if they were going to get anywhere, they’d have to mature a little more. Yong Soo would have to be the level headed one, and Chun Hei would have to calm her anger problems. The notion would be funny in any other situation than this. He just had to pray that Life would be kind to them, since she was being so cruel to him. 

Dawn crept over the horizon, the sky blushing pink and orange long before the sun had any chance to shine its rays over the high walls that ringed the Undercity. Most of the districts in the west would stay in its shadow until at least midday. Tanagura, however, caught the sun the instant it appeared over the distant, empty wilderness outside the city, where skyrail tracks were the only feature on the landscape. He’d dreamed, once, of riding on the back of a train to wherever those tracks went. But it turned out to be difficult enough to stay on the slippery bodies of the carriages long enough to rob them, let alone stick to them for the whole journey. 

The door to his room opened, and he glanced over to see Henry, struggling with a stack of clothes taller than he was. Yao couldn’t quite decide whether he hated or pitied the Furniture. Completely loyal to the Blondies and subservient to their every whim, but it was rumoured in the Undercity that they were brainwashed into it. There wasn’t much information available, not that Yao had ever looked for it. 

“Good morning!” Henry chirped, setting down the folded outfits - all the same, white shirts, white trousers, nothing at all special since Arthur apparently wasn’t the type to dress up his pets - and placing them in the correct drawers in the wardrobe. “The Master’s out today, so you know.”

“Thank Life for a little mercy.” Yao muttered. Henry paused, shifting uncomfortably like he had something to say. “What?”

“He’ll get mad at you, you know,” the boy whispered, as though the Blondie could hear them from however far away he was. “If you don’t do what he says.”

“I don’t care. He doesn’t own me,” Yao replied, glaring out the window.

“Yes he does,” Henry said slowly. Furniture like him probably didn’t understand the concept of not being owned. “You’re his Pet.”

Yao scowled at him. “Go away.” Child or not, he would not be called that word. He was a person, not property.

Henry made his exit, and Yao curled up next to the window again. The sun was up now, and a few of the houses of the Undercity were starting to appear from beneath the layer of yellow early morning smog. Chimneys and rooftops like islands, isolated by the poisonous sea of fog that choked anyone stupid enough to walk around in it without a mask or a scarf pulled up over the face at the very least. The homeless settled in the shadows, daring only to sleep in the day, as it was too dangerous at night. Legal shops opening and illegal ones doing the same but more cautiously. Factory bells calling workers to their stations to add more smoke and fumes to the smog. Noise and chaos and danger and disease.

He missed it enough to cry.

\--------

Someone woke him by shaking him, and he could see by the moonlight on a pale shade that it was Arthur. The Blondie had neglected to turn any lights on, and just dragged him out of bed by the arm, into the moonlight. He didn’t say a word, but his face was set in a dull neutrality that made Yao want to run away from him.

He didn’t speak, instead he pushed Yao onto the floor in front of the mirror and crouched down behind him. Every muscle in his body was screaming to run, to get away, as Arthur untucked a long strand of black hair from behind his ear and let it hang loose across his face.

Yao froze as he felt dull metal press behind his ear.

“It’s not yours anymore,” Arthur whispered, before closing the scissors with a deafening snick in the silence room, leaving black hair to flutter to the floor. His breath smelled like booze. “It’s mine.”

The darkie didn’t notice he was shaking for a long while; sitting there in the dark, and feeling delicate strands slide down his neck to the rhythmic click of the mad Blondie’s scissors.

\------

Some touches he couldn’t get away from. But in their own way they were the easiest to resist.

“It doesn’t count as obeying orders if it’s so half hearted,” Arthur reminded him, pressing his wrists more firmly into the wood of the headboard. “One more time. Open your legs.”

Yao bared his teeth and drew his knees even further up to his chest so that the Blondie had to bend awkwardly. Arthur dug a thumb into the soft underside of his wrist and he yelped.

“If you want to play it this way,” came the final murmur before he was shoved bodily into the carved wood, his head cracking on it.

Closing his eyes against the stinging, he still remembered to kick when Arthur’s weight settled back onto the bed. It caught him on the shin, and Arthur’s hand caught him across the face before seizing one wrist in a crushing grip. Yao kicked in Arthur’s direction again, and got in a few satisfying blows before his head was once again bashed against the wood, and the other wrist caught.

He struggled, bucking and writhing his body, but stilled when he felt something warm running down his arm. Yao froze, and the stinging in his wrist was suddenly so much more noticeable when he noticed the sharp little tool on Arthurs thumb.

“You bastard,” he hissed, shutting his eyes tight against tears.

Arthur’s free hand slid under his chin, catching the escaped water and licking the trail it had created back to the source.

“I’ll tell you again,” he smirked, forcing Yao’s head up. “Look at me. Good. Now do it.”

The Blondie didn’t even look when Yao compiled, bringing his legs down to prop his heels against the mattress, he simply scooted closer and pressed a feather light kiss to his throat.

“Better,” his smirk widened, before reaching down and shoving his thumb upwards into Yao’s body like a snake lashing out.

Yao let out a yell, his entire body going taught at the sudden intrusion and the sting of Arthur’s uncut thumbnail. It didn’t hurt, but it felt vile - like having an insect crawl into his mouth or fly into his ear. His entire body shuddered and tried to pull back, but Arthur laughed and followed him until he was pressed flat against the headboard, Arthur’s digit still inside him.

“Don’t-” He hissed, before a second hand was yanking his tangled hair back and Arthur’s mouth was on his.

There was no tongue to bite, Arthur kept his mouth more or less closed, but he crushed them together in a way that must have hurt him too. Then he hooked his thumb and pressed back, and Yao screamed.

“Stop, stop, stop!” He could barely form any other words. It hurt. Like someone was bending his elbow the wrong way, just the crushing strength of Arthur’s hand slowly defeating his own muscles. He arched himself harshly at the waist to stop the pressure, making the angle awkward for Arthur on instinct. “Stop it!”

Arthur stopped, holding Yao’s body at that angle and looking over him; eyes squeezes shut, breathing coming in harsh gasps...

“Good grief...” he sighed, letting Yao straighten out but pushing his thumb back as far as it would go, adding his index finger as an afterthought. No longer in so much pain, the darkie had to gall to hiss at him.

“I hate you,” he spat, ducking his head behind his short curtain of hair.

“But will you behave?” Arthur drawled in response, twisting his fingers. He was answered with a slight nod, to which he twisted forward again to lick a long stripe up his pet’s neck. 

\-----

He looked a mess and knew it. Perhaps he could fool himself into believing that was why everyone was staring at him like a slab of meat. The circular arena he’d been pushed into was about fifty meters in diameter, with descending tiers towards the centre, culminating in what looked like a huge mound of pillows in the deepest part. Stage lights illuminated various chairs, beanbags, loveseats, sofas, and yet more soft things strewn about the place. There was a single water fountain, and next to it a table with various tubes. He didn’t like the look of the pill dispenser above it either.

It was called ‘the Salon’, a misleading title. With all the onlookers at their various tables surrounding them, looking down on them, you’d think it was a fighting ring. And if the other darkies advanced any closer, Yao was willing to make it into one.

There were, however, about fifteen of them, and only one of him. The only thing he had going for him was that most of them were younger than he was. In fact, the one who was edging closer and closer to him, stark naked and as shameless as the rest of them, had to be only thirteen at best. 

“Hi!” he said, scuffing his feet on the floor shyly. Brown eyes peered up through reddish-brown hair. “I’m Feli. What’s your name?”

Yao didn’t bother answering. He didn’t want to give this kid the impression that he was at all interested in him. Instead he just curled up on the chair he’d sat in from the beginning, trying to regain some dignity. 

“Hey,” the boy poked him lightly on the shoulder. “Are you okay? Don’t you feel very well?”

“This whole place makes me sick,” Yao muttered despite himself. The boy turned and yelled over his shoulder. 

“Lovi, come here!” 

Another boy came over, and Yao frowned for a moment. Twins. Identical twins. There was no other explanation, they were completely alike. It almost made it worse. Why was Life mocking him today? “What, Feliciano?”

“This person feels sick and I wanna make him feel better!” Feli said earnestly, seeming genuinely concerned for Yao’s welfare. “... how?”

“How should I know?” grumbled his brother. “Hug him or something.”

Feliciano lit up. “Ah! You’re a genius Lovino, that always makes me feel better!” 

“Course I am, they gave me all the brains,” Lovino scoffed, and Yao understood. Bred pets. Grown and trained specifically for Blondies. He’d heard of this. Twins were unusual in the first place. Of course they’d be desirable to those sick Blondie bastards.

In the middle of his thoughts, arms circled around his back, and a face nuzzled against his neck. Instinctively, Yao pushed out, breaking the relatively loose hold and standing up so quickly he knocked the chair over. The force also sent Feliciano to the ground, and then falling further down a tier, landing on the edge of a loveseat with a loud clatter. Everyone looked over at him, stopping in whatever they were doing.

“Feliciano!” Lovino cried, jumping down the tiers to check if his brother was alright. Yao could hear him crying softly, whimpering about his wrist and back. 

Someone tapped on Yao’s shoulder, and he turned around to find another boy, maybe 15 or 16, scowling at him. This one actually had a height advantage on Yao, tanned skin and wavy dark hair. This was all that he had time to observe before he was shoved roughly back, making him stumble, while the other boy advanced with an expression promising pain on his face. He drew back his fist, but had it caught by yet another person. He was similar enough to the first boy that they had to be related somehow, but he was older, and had a long, ragged scar running over his left eye and cheek.

“No, Antonio,” he said firmly. 

“But Gaaaaaaab,” whined the younger boy, Antonio apparently. “Just a little-”

“No.”

Antonio sulked away, and ‘Gab’ didn’t spare Yao anything more than an aloof glance over the shoulder as he followed him. The two gathered around by where Feli had fallen, as some Furniture staff came jogging out of the locker room to check on the fallen boy. Yao righted his chair and sat in it until he was called home.

\-----

Yao hadn’t seen an eight year old look so grim before, but George was doing a good job of leveling this sort of gaze at him when he returned home.

“Governor Gilbert Beilschmidt orders that you be beaten thirty times with blunt force and starved for three days,” he listed, chewing on his lip at the end, before continuing. “This overrides Captain Arthur Kirkland’s previous orders of solitude.”

The Governor. Of all the pets he’d had to push over, he’d pushed the most powerful man in the city’s. 

The bruises faded soon enough. The physical punishment hurt, but it wasn’t the worst. That was yet to come.

\-----

Arthur came back from his trip clutching a slim blue file. He settled himself on the bed with infinite care, placing it carefully on the dresser before feathering one hand over Yao’s bare shoulder, pale and unmarked. Yao refused to react, and just lay still.

“Natural twins, really.”

Yao’s entire body went cold, and his mind began to work at a mile a minute. Arthur couldn’t have found his twins. He couldn’t have put so much effort into finding them unless he wanted just to use them as some sort of torment. They were of no interest to him, petty criminals at best. And Yao had never mentioned them, not at all, so how could he have found them?

“Im Chun Hei,” Arthur continued to read. “A woman, I’m surprised. Responsible for armed robbery and arson, but to name a few. Your sister perhaps?”

“I,” Yao faltered, nausea curling in his stomach. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Hmm, are you sure? Maybe this will help, Im Yong Soo. Wanted for manslaughter and treason.” Here the Blondie set down his file and leaned over Yao until they were pressed front to back, close enough for him to feel Arthur’s breath on his ear. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

Taking a shaky breath, the darkie tried to stop his hands shaking by gripping the sheets. “I said I don’t know-”

“No,” Arthur agreed, tangling a hand into Yao’s hair and pulling. “You don’t know. You don’t seem to know that you scream. Occasionally, when you’re just too far gone. You scream for him to come and help you.”

The darkie shrieked, feeling a few clumps of hair come loose. “I don’t know them!” He shouted, only to be released as suddenly as Arthur had grabbed him.

“Oh but I’m sure you do,” he purred, letting go of Yao to move away. His voice fell and rose as he wandered across the room and back, accompanied by an ominous swishing noise. The familiar sound gave Yao next to no warning before the leather landed on his back with a sharp snap. There was nothing gentle in the first strike, and his voice cracked when he screeched in pain.

“Maybe I can jog your memory,” Arthur continued, before bringing his whip down again twice in quick succession. “No?”

“I don’t know!” 

“Oh but you do,” hissed the Blondie, and for once his voice was laced with anger rather than enjoyment for reasons Yao couldn’t begin to place. “They’re your _family_.” 

Three more strikes cut off any reply he was going to make, instead he threw his arms up to over his head. During a brief pause Yao dimly noticed that Arthur was also shaking like a leaf, until he began to speak again, stressing certain words with more lashes. Keeping silent wasn’t an option, and before long he was screaming just as Arthur wanted.

“You can yell for them all you want, but you’re not going back to them!” he snarled through his teeth, spitting in anger. “You’re never going to see them again! And even if you did they wouldn’t want you, _he_ wouldn’t want you. Why would they _ever_ want you back like this? Are you going to scream for them _now_?”

When he had a second to breath, the darkie rolled over and spat. “Always!”

Arthur forwent any speech after that.

\--------

Somewhere, years passed. Days turned into nights and back again, snow came and went, and the hours blended together.

There were no clocks. 

Surviving was what he did to pass the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
> Gabriel or "Gab" = Portugal, male version with the scar over his eye. Name and personality borrowed from edencomplex @ tumblr


	3. Darren

**Chapter 3**

**Darren**

 

This was going to be worse than prison.  
  
That’s what they were all telling him. Mocking and hissing and jeering at him as he left his cell. He rarely paid attention to what they said anyway; he’d been in the jailhouse for the better part of 15 years. He’d long grown accustomed to fights, to arguments, to all the scum that the world had to offer. And as much as he liked to think they were just saying these things to worry him, he did start to wonder what if. As the lowest of the low, what if they knew what they were talking about? There were a few Pets that had waited in here for their executions after killing their Masters. What if they’d had good reason to?  
  
Darren had been born with brown hair, imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit for a decade and a half, and was now being carted off to either the auction house or the executioner’s block.  
  
Their first stop was the former. Glass boxes offered no privacy, and he had no clothes. A sea of blonde heads was before him. He could never think of himself as above them, but at the very least, he would keep his head high for his own sake. They’d called him “pretty bird” in prison. In a cage there, and now just being put in a different, albeit golden cage.  
  
Wave after wave they came, and to each of them he made eye contact. No threat, no particular defiance, but he looked at them, which could be scandal enough for some. Many turned away with a contemptuous sneer. But one did not.  
  
Green eyes, he mused. Much like his own. The man was younger, but not incredibly so. Mid-twenties, with blond hair at the darker end of the scale. He wore black and green, the colours of the secret police, and how Darren remembered them well.   
  
Their little staring contest continued for a long while, the Blondie sizing Darren up and Darren appraising the Blondie. Finally, a small smirk appeared on pale lips, and he saw them form the words.  
  
“That one.”  
  
\---  
  
The cover had been thrown off his cage. He kept his surprise hidden as well as he could, but his eyes still widened at the world before him. Everything was clean, sleek, white stone and cool metal. He didn’t feel like he belonged here. The sudden, irrational urge to return to his prison cell, practically his home these fifteen years, leapt up like a lump in his throat. He knew people there, he was familiar with the wardens, he knew how to play the inmates against each other so they wouldn’t turn on him. He would have to put his skills to the test here, now, in this cold, sterile environment.  
  
Darren was pushed to the floor, knees colliding with a painful crack. He grit his teeth and bore it. The polished boots of the Blondie who’d bought him came into his line of sight. “I am Arthur Kirkland. You will call me Master.”  
  
A gloved hand caught his chin and jerked his face up. Arthur was crouching before him, studying him in closer detail. Darren kept his eye contact unwavering, stubborn but not aggressive. After a while, Arthur’s eyes narrowed, getting irritable, and Darren knew that it was time to look away. Last thing he needed was to make a bad start with this. Arthur was the new warden, one to be treated with deference and respect. So he shifted his gaze to the Blondie’s lips instead. What was a frown became a dark smile.  
  
“Hm.” Satisfied, he let Darren go. “Clean him up and bring him to my room.”  
  
He was escorted to the bathroom - biggest, nicest bathroom he’d ever seen by miles - by a teenage boy by the name of George. He had to be about thirteen or fourteen, and was friendly enough, though he jumped every time Darren made a sudden move. Darren had no past experience dealing with Furniture, but he didn’t think they were meant to be constantly terrified.  
  
“Do I scare you?” He finally asked as George helped dry off his hair. It was weird to have this sort of thing done for him. He kinda wanted to do it himself, but George insisted, though his voice shook, that it was his job.  
  
“No,” The boy replied; a barefaced lie if Darren had ever heard one. He raised his eyebrows skeptically until George sighed. “There was an incident. You don’t have to worry about it, it’s nothing to do with you. I’ll... get over it.”  
  
Well that was cryptic. But Darren didn’t press any further, seeing how the boy was already uncomfortable and he didn’t need to have a bad start with the staff as well, lest they spat in his food or worse.  
  
Scrubbed down on every inch of his body, this was the cleanest he’d likely ever been in his life. Certainly, being a kid on the streets of the Undercity hadn’t been particularly hygenic. But here George even trimmed his nails, combed through his hair, and made sure he was dried off nicely, before finally leading him down a long hall with so many doors Darren didn’t think he’d ever know them all no matter how long he stayed here. This place was huge.  
  
George showed him into one of the rooms, furnished in dark red, with real wooden flooring and a crackling fireplace. “If you go sit on the bed, Master will be here soon.” he muttered, and Darren didn’t miss the ominous tone of voice.  
  
He did as told and sighed. This was probably the comfiest bed he’d ever sat on. It felt like sitting on a cloud. He didn’t know what these sheets were made of, but they flowed like water at his touch. So this was how the Blondies lived.   
  
The door opened, and he jumped up off the bed and stood to attention like inspections had taught him to. Suddenly nervous, his heart hammered in his chest as Arthur entered the room. He’d discarded his green and black outdoors clothing for a emerald green dressing gown. Darren swallowed. He’d endured this kind of thing in prison - he was the “pretty bird”, and they’d make him sing for them - but for some reason he felt more panicked here than he did in any cold shower room. Maybe because more was expected of him? A Blondie of this age must have had Pets before.  
  
“That’s a nice look on your face.” Arthur said, closing the door behind him with a damning click. He deposited a key in his pocket. “Are you afraid?”  
  
The question forced Darren to calm himself. Fear was weakness, and weakness could be preyed upon all too easily. Prison hadn’t broken him, it had taught him. Green eyes narrowed.  
  
“Oh, you’re good.” the blondie’s voice was lowered. “Such control. Better than my previous.” Somehow he closed the distance between them quickly, and Darren noticed he was actually a good few inches taller than Arthur. “Do you know how to follow orders, Darkie?”  
  
Darren nodded firmly, watching the shorter man carefully. There was more to this than just sex.   
  
“I want to hear an answer, not just a nod.” he inclined his head. “Speak.”  
  
“Yes.” Darren replied, and then quickly added. “Master.”  
  
Happy with this, Arthur turned his back and made his way over to the crackling fireplace.   
  
“Very good.” He pulled a hot poker out of the fire, and Darren immediately backed up until he hit the wall. The Blondie looked entirely too amused.   
  
“Ah, that’s put some fight in you. You’re a clever one. You know what’s coming.” Smoke trailed as he swung the poker around like a sword. “I mark all my Pets and Furniture like this. The question is, are you going to fight, or submit?” Green eyes narrowed. “I hope for your sake it’s the latter, or I might put this somewhere else.”  
  
Worse than prison, worse than prison,  much  worse than prison. Makeshift knives and dropping the soap was one thing, but red hot metal was quite another.   
  
He looked around for escape routes. There was a large window, but they were much too high up for him to even think of making it. The door was locked, and he would never get the key off Arthur without encountering that poker. Hiding under the bed was futile, and although he was bigger and better muscled than Arthur, he had no weapon, and nothing in the room was even potentially useful as one. No glass bottles, no mirrors, no other pokers. His back was quite literally against the wall. Trapped.  
  
Arthur came ever closer, and Darren could feel the heat of the iron radiating in his face. He couldn’t hide his fear, breath coming fast and sharp as he instinctively leaned away.  
  
“Submit.” growled Arthur, and even though they were the same, suddenly looking into his Master’s eyes was like gazing at the devil himself.  
  
Darren squeezed his eyes shut, and knelt on the floor.   
  
The pain didn’t register at first, but when Arthur took the poker away skin went with it, and Darren let out a cry of agony. He quickly bit it off, clenching his teeth until he felt like his jaw would break. The side of his neck was aflame, blistering and burning, in fact only a tiny wound, but the intensity and closeness to his face made it so much worse. He wanted to cover the spot with his hand, but felt moving might be a bad idea. And so it was, because Arthur wasn’t done. The poker struck again, this time on the other side of his neck, a near identical spot. Like a burning knighthood, but instead of his shoulders holding the weight of a fabled kingdom, his neck bore the yolk of slavery.  
  
A clang signified that Arthur had relinquished the poker, sending it skittering across the floor to the other side of the room. Darren didn’t notice he was crying until Arthur wiped a hand across his cheek.   
  
“Good pet.” he uttered. “And you’ll stay good, or I can do much worse than a hot poker.”  
  
\---  
  
He had his own bed. And it was a nice bed. And the room was three times the size of his cell. And there were windows. And silk sheets - he’d found that was what they were called - and a comfy chair and a table and.... and...  
  
And not much else really. He was quite used to entertaining himself - a few brawls had put him in solitary when he was younger. But he got a feeling that scratching the walls into shapes wasn’t going to go down well here. He folded the sheets each way to Sunday, but George, who was apparently assigned to clean up after him, told him he didn’t have to do anything. At least in prison he’d had neighbours all similarly bored and hanging out of the bars, looking for a chat.  
  
He’d never much thought about his family while he was imprisoned. He figured they’d all have expected him to end up there, even if he’d been locked up at the tender age of 9. He’d been such a trouble maker when he was young, running off and causing fights out of frustration that he was always ignored. And now here he was, lying on a springy mattress with feather pillows and silk sheets. He wondered where they were. Were they still in the Undercity, were they even alive? Could he bring himself to care?  
  
Not really, he realised. Wow, he was a terrible person.  
  
“Booooooooored.” he muttered to himself. The word turned kind of into a sing-song at the end. He tried seeing how long he could hold one note before he ran out of breath. Eighteen seconds. That kind of sucked. He tried again for longer, but ended up gasping on the bed.   
  
Maybe he needed to work up to it. He started tapping himself a beat on the side table, singing notes out in a random nonsense language. Babda du daa lalalulala. When are you gonna let me out, jailor. Babda du daa lalalulalei. I want to see my chick today.  
  
If he had paper he would probably write down the lyrics that were forming in his head. Nana na naa.... lala la laa...   
  
Oh Jupiter, he was actually going crazy with boredom.  
  
He stopped singing and sat up. He then nearly fell off the bed when he suddenly noticed Arthur sitting in one of the chairs by the window. “M-Master!” he clutched at his heart. “I didn’t hear you come in...”  
  
“I know they called you ‘pretty bird’, but I didn’t think you could actually sing.” Arthur seemed amused more than annoyed, to Darren’s relief. He’d got a lot of trouble from his neighbours when they got irritated with his singing. “You can carry a tune. Continue.”  
  
Darren gaped at him, and then tried to compose himself. Alright, this was much less humiliating than the usual ways one expected a Pet to please its Master. So he cleared his throat, and continued with his made up song. He tried not to look at Arthur, because that would probably throw him off, but instead his gaze drifted outside, to overlook the shining city. It was beautiful up here, if sterile and cold and somehow empty, and somehow that worked it’s way into the song. A sad song about emptiness and loneliness and loss, on a tune in minor keys.  
  
He paused to take a break, and glanced over at Arthur, to see him also staring out the window with a contemplative face. He looked sad, somehow. Similarly lonely. And with the way the Blondie’s neck was turned, Darren could see a thick bandage, where it peeked out from under his shirt collar. On his neck.   
  
He was surprised to find himself worried. What the hell, this man had branded him with an iron poker barely a week ago and he was worried about him? He truly had gone mad.  
  
Arthur’s hand covered the bandage self-consciously, and Darren worried for a moment he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to see. But the Blondie was still gazing out the window in thought, wistful even. So Darren went back to singing.   
  
He turned his song to happier things. Emptiness means it can be filled. That loneliness only lasted if you let it. This time Arthur did look at him. Darren didn’t look away, but he did stop singing. As much as he could stubbornly keep eye contact with people, he didn’t much like singing while being stared at with such intensity as Arthur did.   
  
The Blondie muttered something to himself, and got out of his chair. He paused by the door, and left a book on the table on his way out.  
  
He picked it up. He could barely read, but that was fine. It was a picture book.  
  
\---  
  
Darren’s extremely sparse room slowly gathered more personality. He had a small book shelf now, and his reading had been getting better. The radio he’d been given didn’t connect to any station but classical, but that was fine, because then he could make up the words to the orchestral songs. He was slowly getting to know the “Furniture” as well. Though similarly slaves to Arthur, they weren’t afforded quite the same luxury as he was, and as such he was put on the back foot when it came to first impressions. Six months on and they still didn’t like him very much, but the fact they no longer spat in his food was an improvement.  
  
The snow was coming down hard outside, practically a blizzard. He’d looked up from his book an hour ago and got stuck watching all the patterns it made. If his windows had latches to open them, he would have stuck his hands out to try and feel it. As it was, he’d not been outside in months.   
  
The door opened and he looked around to see Arthur there. Any happiness he might have had at the company was diminished slightly by the Blondie’s traveling clothes. A large suitcase rested just outside.   
  
“I’m going away for a while.” Arthur announced, and Darren stood from his chair. “No. This isn’t for Pets.” He pulled on thick leather gloves. “I’ll be back in a few weeks.”  
  
“Where are you...” he began, trailing off. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the out of line question and said nothing. But he didn’t look happy, so it certainly couldn’t be anywhere good. Arthur was the secret police; whatever had happened that would keep him away from the house for weeks, it was probably dangerous. “... be careful.”  
  
Arthur looked shocked. His mouth dropped open and he stared at Darren like he’d said something utterly mad. It made him shift uncomfortably.  
  
“Sorry, I just-”  
  
“You get lonely.” The Blondie sounded flat. That wasn’t what Darren had meant at all, but then Arthur placed quite a large object on the table by the door and turned to leave, cloak swishing with his movement, leaving him alone again.  
  
Or maybe not alone. There was movement from inside the thing Arthur had left behind. It was domed at the top, but straight on the sides, and covered with a blanket. He approached it cautiously, and slowly lifted the covers off.  
  
A small yellow bird stared back at him with little brown eyes. It tilted its head and cheeped. It had a little swing in its cage, a little pool for water to go in, and a food tray. He went to his en-suite bathroom and gave the bird some water, which it immediately sat in and washed itself.   
  
“Cute...” Darren smiled. “Now what do I call you...” He placed the cage on top of the table by the window, and sat in the chair to contemplate it. He wasn’t very good at naming things. Maybe he should just make up a word for it. “Hmmmm...” He hummed. “Felyna.” The name rolled off his tongue, and he grinned to himself. The little bird fluttered out of the bath, and perched on the swing, chirping a little tune. He sang one back, mimicking the notes. Before long they had a call and response going on.  
  
After dinner, he looked through his books to try and find what kind of bird she was - he’d decided it was a she - and found her after a few minutes. It took him several more minutes to decipher the text, but apparently she was something called a canary. He took a pen, and next to the picture, wrote “Felyna”. His handwriting was terrible, but he could read it and that was what mattered.  
  
“Well then Felyna, I don’t think you’re quite as grumpy as Arthur is, but I hope we can get along.” he poked his finger through the bars, and the little bird pecked at it curiously. It didn’t hurt much more than being poked with a pen. His other hand went up to his neck, brushing against the scar there. “... I’m kind of weird, aren’t I. Worrying about a guy like him. He can defend himself.” But there were times, when Darren was singing, that he caught him looking like a lost child. Felyna hopped onto his finger, little claws digging in, but Darren didn’t move. “You’re right. I should just let him get on with his business. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters:  
> Darren - Wales OC developed by myself and Nena, with the character design from edencomplex on tumblr. He doesn't have any blood relation to Arthur in this story.


	4. Alfred

“Master Alfred, Captain Kirkland is coming!”

The master of the house spluttered and bolted upright in bed. “Shit! Okay everyone in your positions, clothes, ah fuck, someone get Mei up here to do Kiku’s clothes, I can never get those right!”

His midnight-haired pet on the bed next to him was much less ruffled by the sudden arrival of the Chief of Police, at least on the surface. While Alfred was panicking, he had fetched his master’s discarded outfit, shiny medals clicking against each other on the lapels. “Master, stay calm. You must look your best too.”

“I know, I’ve got it, you get changed too - Jupiter, why does he never call ahead?!”

The house was thrown into chaos as the Furniture changed out of the more casual garments Alfred preferred, into their drab and boring uniform mint-green jumpsuits. Alfred was still doing up his buttons on his jacket when he got to the reception room, and as much as he wanted to leap the few stairs up to the large, comfortable chair at the end of the room, he knew he’d dislodge his outfit if he did. 

Kiku entered at a much less hurried pace through the side door, long purple kimono falling off one shoulder in a purposefully seductive way, face painted white and eyes outlined in red. His hands were covered by how long his sleeves were, but delicate fingers peeked out the end. He kept his eyes shyly and demurely to the floor, and as Alfred sat in the chair, arranged himself at his feet, resting a dark head on his master’s knee. Though Alfred had seen him sit quite primly and modestly when he was allowed, in this instance he let his legs fold not under him, but beside him, pale skin appearing from under purple silk.

And while this was quite distracting, Arthur Kirkland’s entrance was more so.

Alfred’s protests that those doors were expensive went unheard as the captain of the secret police strode across the hall, polished boots with steel toes clacking on the marble floor. His eyes flickered once to Kiku and narrowed, but the Pet didn’t return the look, keeping his gaze lowered and respectful. The Blondie came to a stop directly before Alfred, folding his arms with care to how his uniform creased. 

“I’ve been hearing things, Alfred.” he announced without preamble.

“You should probably get that checked out with a doctor then, Arthur.” Alfred grinned back at him like he hadn’t a care in the world. Why would he, just a rich kid with honorary medals and a squeaky clean record. 

“Don’t. This is serious.” Green eyes locked on to blue and stayed there as he ascended the stairs. Arthur was by no means a tall man, but he still made himself intimidating. “I want to have a private chat, right now.”

Alfred stared at him. “You don’t usually consider Pets and Furniture to impede privacy.” He had very vivid memories of Arthur completely disregarding Kiku’s presence and... well, doing things to him that no Blondie was ever meant to do, but he hadn’t complained at the time and they hadn’t discussed it since.

“Loathe as I am to resort to violence, if you don’t get out of that chair and come with me, I’m going to have to kick you out of it.” the older man growled. Alfred raised his hands defensively and rose from his chair. 

“Alright, sheesh, don’t burst anything important.” he glanced at Kiku. “Stay.” It was a command, like that one would give to a dog, and he never gave it unless in ‘polite’ company such as Arthur. Leniency might get him killed, in public, and then what would happen to Kiku?

They ended up in the deserted drawing room. Arthur closed all the curtains and made sure all the doors were shut tight. Alfred watched him, bemused. 

“What’s all this about, Arthur?” he asked, once the Captain had finished inspecting the room for any trace of spy equipment. “You’re a paranoid fucker, but you’re not this paranoid.”

Arthur turned towards him. “What I have to talk to you about is of high importance and secrecy, for your sake as well as mine.” he kept his voice hushed, as though he expected someone to be listening at the door. Alfred knew full well none of his Furniture would do that, but played Arthur’s little game by staying quiet too.

“Alright then, what is it? An assassination plot? An underground drug ring? A conspiracy?”

“Don’t be daft, I run all of those.” Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“Well if it’s not something cool and exciting, I’m not interested.” He turned to go, but almost had his arm jerked out of it’s socket. Arthur had grabbed the younger blondie on the forearm, fingers squeezing tight enough to bruise. "Ow Arthur- what the fu-"

"You are young, and ignorant, and I will keep that in mind." Arthur snarled. "And you are much too soft. Your trust of your pets will be your end one day."

Alfred glared at him. "Fuck you man, you don't know shit."

"Oh, I don't?" Arthur uttered lowly, straightening and pulling down the collar of his shirt. A large, red burn was there, not fresh, but certainly damaging. Alfred's breath caught. "You give them an inch, they'll take a yard." He released Alfred's arm, and walked past him. "Consider this a warning. If you don’t sort yourself out, someone else will do it for you." With a final slam, he left Alfred in the darkened room.

The pieces clicked into place. 

Arthur knew.

Shit.

He left the room and went to the front windows of the house just in time to see Arthur get into his car and be driven away. Arthur was gone, but no doubt he’d be back, and soon. Alfred swallowed a lump of worry, and made his way back to the reception room, where Kiku was no doubt still obediently sitting. The darkie looked up at Alfred as he strode in, eyes widening in surprise when he pulled him into a tight hug. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, returning it and stroking soothing hands down his back. 

“I love you Kiku, okay?” Alfred replied, hands clenching on the purple silk. “And I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re mine and they can’t change that. You understand?”

“I understand,” Kiku said, muffled by Alfred’s shirt. “I’d never leave you, Master.”

“And you know we’ve got to be careful, yeah? Because...”

Kiku turned deep, dark eyes to look up at him. For all his short vocabulary and miniscule education, Alfred knew Kiku was smarter than most other bred pets, and that wasn’t just because he was his master. 

“It’s forbidden,” Kiku said quietly, almost sadly. “For a Blondie to lie with a Darkie, as Darkies do together. Blondies must remain untainted by the lower classes, for they are the ultimate in creation.” It was something he’d had drummed into him at the breeding program, the same way Alfred’s mentors growing up had drummed it into him. 

“And even so, I don’t care.” Alfred felt that if he held Kiku any tighter, he’d accidentally crush him. Darkies seemed so fragile next to the strength of a Blondie. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Not even Arthur...” he hesitated. Arthur had been a mentor and ally for his whole life. In his perspective he was probably trying to help Alfred escape from a potentially painful consequence. He’d lost his old pet. But Alfred wouldn’t lose his. “Not even Arthur,” he continued with more resolve. “Nor any of his lackeys will take you from me.”

Kiku nodded, the smallest of smiles appearing. He never did anything grandiose, not like his Master, but with these small things, it was all the more rewarding to spot them. He kissed those small lips, savouring the warmth and the smell and the gentle way it was returned.

The whole of Tanagura could hang, as long as he had Kiku.

\---

The morning sun woke him, even though he was sure he’d closed the curtains. Alfred squinted out at the sun. It was higher than usual - he'd overslept, it had to be past noon. Usually someone woke him up by now - Mei informing him lunch was ready, or the warmth of Kiku pressed against his side.

There was a distinct lack of warmth.

His room was messy, and the door was wide open. 

He was alone.


	5. Darren

How long was “a few weeks” anyway? The word “few” was infuriatingly vague. He’d bemoaned this to Felyna a hundred times, and the little bird had chirped her sympathy back at him. 

It had been nearly a month and Darren was starting to edge past worried and into the territory of hysterical. Which was stupid because, as he kept telling himself, Arthur was a grown adult and a Blondie so surely he had the best of protection. 

If a bird sings in its cage and there’s no-one around to hear it, does it make a sound?

He paused on that thought for a moment, when there was suddenly a lot of sound coming from downstairs. He opened his bedroom door and peered down the hallway, but couldn’t see anything. Leaving his room was something he didn’t usually do - a habit ingrained from prison that Arthur saw fit to keep - but there was an awful lot of commotion and -

“Master Arthur!” someone cried in shock, and Darren took off like a shot.

He cursed that he couldn’t run faster, reaching the top of the stairs as the pandemonium reached a crescendo. Arthur looked terrible. His arm was in a sling, he was leaning heavily on a cane, and his face was even paler than usual. He completely ignored the Furniture and their worried hovering, determinedly making his way towards the stairs. Darren came down to try and meet him half way, and saw him trip. Instinctively, he caught him.

Arthur stared at him though pained eyes. Realising that he was touching his Master without permission, Darren set him down on the stairs and tried to back up, but a firm hand grabbed his wrist. 

“Take me to my room.” Even Arthur’s voice was raspy. Darren tried not to let his worry show on his face when he lifted his master up. He was like a feather; even for someone his build, he was much too light. Ignoring the servant’s mutters, he moved up the stairs with care.

There was a problem when they reached Arthur’s door, which was shut. Darren couldn’t open it with his hands full. This problem was immediately solved by Arthur’s flick of the wrist, which sent the door swinging open without trouble. Darren was aware that Blondies could do amazing things, but this was certainly new to him. 

Gently laying him on the bed, Darren got a closer look at his injuries. Arthur’s arm was healing, but injured still, possibly a break. His leg didn’t appear to have much wrong with it from the outside, so it was probably only a sprain. From how pale he was, he must have lost quite a bit of blood before, but he wasn’t getting any worse, which is why he was at home rather than the hospital. A sudden burst of anger flared in his chest. This was brutal. He was going to get whoever did this.

“Get these damned clothes off me.” Arthur’s voice snapped him out of his thought of violence. 

He tried to be as gentle as possible removing them, but getting trousers off over a sprained ankle - and it was sprained, he could see now, all swollen and red - was harder than it sounded. Removing the shirt was just as difficult, and Arthur swore profusely when he had to get his arm out of the hole. Eventually, it was over, and Arthur lay on the covers with his face scrunched up in pain. He was trying to remain stoic, but it was fooling no-one. 

“What happened?” Darren asked softly. Arthur peered out of one eye at him. 

“I had a disagreement.”

“Understatement.”

“Don’t get smart.” Arthur snapped. “It’s none of your concern.” 

Darren frowned at his master, but Arthur wasn’t looking at him, face turned away towards the window. It was raining now. The bandages that had once covered his neck had been long since removed, and a nasty burn scar was in its place. 

“If you’d just saved a blind man from walking off a cliff,” Came a murmur. The Pet strained to hear Arthur’s voice. “But instead of thanking you, he berated you for interrupting his walk, what would you do?”

It was unlike Arthur to be so roundabout, but Darren thought about it. He was genuinely asking for his opinion. “... I’d let the blind man go on his way. Eventually, he’ll realise that what I did was to help him, and he’ll apologise. But that takes patience on my part and humility on his.” he shrugged. “And since I don’t know the blind man very well, it would fall to me to be the better, patient man. That’s what I would do.”

“Hm.” Was the only response there. Darren hoped he’d answered appropriately. It seemed entirely too much like a round-about sort of order to him. But if Arthur was lost and needed help, Darren was going to do what he could. “Get in the bed, Darren.”

After a surprised pause, Darren went round the other side and did so, lying on his side. Quietly, Arthur shuffled closer to him, but did nothing else. Soon enough, he dropped off to sleep, exhausted. Darren pulled the covers over on top of him, and tried not to freak out too much when Arthur’s arm sleepily flopped over to grasp him like a teddy bear. Alright, so he was a clingy sleeper. Or maybe he just needed someone there.

He sincerely hoped that the “blind man” was alone tonight.

\---

Darren kept his face straight as he stared around the pit in the middle of the Salon. If he thought about it, it wasn’t much different to the prison yard, albeit with more plush floor and less dirt. Arthur had been incredibly cryptic on the way here about what he was meant to do in this place.

Speaking of which, he could just about see him at one of the tables, chatting animatedly with another blondie. This one had a slight beard, and a sleazy sort of look about him. From how Arthur was treating him, he didn’t like him much either, but the sleazy guy didn’t seem too fussed by it, so they likely knew each other well. Another man with short, combed back hair came to the table, followed by a man whose hair seemed so blonde it was almost white. An albino? How incredible to even see one....

“Psst,” someone hissed to his left. He looked around to find a young brunette standing next to him. He looked like a weakling, that was Darren’s first thought. His second was to wonder just what he wanted to talk to him for.

“What?”

“Hi!” the boy chirped. He couldn’t be much older than 19, or maybe his looks were deceiving. “I’m Feli! … Hello!”

“Er.” Darren we quite taken aback by how forward and cheerful the boy was. “Darren. Nice to meet you too.”

“Are you new?” he asked immediately. Darren frowned.

“I’ve been with my Master for about eight months, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, but here?” His words came out quite fast, and Darren had to replay the sentence in his head to understand. “Who is your Master?”

“... yes, it’s my first time here. My Master is Arthur.” 

Feliciano stepped back and gasped. “Oooh! I’m sorry!”

Darren frowned. “Sorry? Why-”

“Oi!” another, almost exact replica of Feliciano appeared from nowhere, smacking the friendly boy on the back of the head. “What are you doing there! Someone will jump on you and then I’m not gonna help you!” His gaze shifted to Darren, turning into a glare. “Who’s that?”

“This is Darren, brother.” So they were twins. That made sense. They were probably a set, from the breeding program, if the simplistic way they spoke was any indication. There was no education or even exposure to higher vocabulary for bred pets. “He’s Arthur’s.”

Again, the other twin sucked in breath between his teeth. “Wow, sucks to be you.” He stuck out his hand. “But there are worse Masters to have.” He shot a look up to the balcony, where an albino was watching them with a predatory leer. “Anyway, I’m Lovino.”

“Look, Arthur’s been decent to me, after the one incident with the poker he’s never hurt me.” he indicated his body. “Not a scratch.”

Both twins’ eyes narrowed, and they tilted their heads identically. “Are we talking about the same Arthur here?” Lovino asked. Darren was starting to tell them apart by the way one of them had an unruly curl on one side, and the other mirrored it.

“Arthur Kirkland, yeah.” 

Feli looked incredibly confused. “Ve, I don’t get it.”

Lovino snorted, folding his arms. “I do. He’s lying.”

“I’m not-”

“Toris!” yelled someone, as they tossed a brunette into the pit. His hair was long enough to reach his shoulders and his posture hunched, defensive. If everyone was going to go beat the shit out of him, Darren could understood the tenseness. But nobody moved immediately. 

“What?” he whispered to Feli. The boy started giggling, and Lovino rolled his eyes.

“Ve, it means we jump on him.”

“A fight? That doesn’t seem-”

“What?” Lovino gave him a look like he’d grown a second head. “Not fighting, stupid. We go down on him.”

Darren blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” the irritable twin rolled his eyes again, then grabbed Feliciano’s wrist. “Well if nobody is gonna start, let’s go.”

“Come over when you want~!” Feli waved at him, allowing himself to be dragged. Two others were already trying to get the brunette to uncurl and relax.

Darren glanced up to the balcony. Arthur was looking down at him, not in a particularly interested manner, but observing none the less. It was hardly the same as singing, but if he was expected to perform, then he was going to do it, and there was no point in being half-arsed about it.

\---

“Captain Kirkland recovered quickly from that unfortunate fall, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, tripped down some marble stairs I hear, lucky he didn’t break anything more serious. Had to rely on his pet to help him around the place, the poor soul.”

The Blondies passing by the exit of the Salon likely didn’t know that Darren could hear them. Even if they did, they were just as likely not to care. Not that Darren minded fading into the background. He could gather much more information when people weren’t aware of him, compared to when people were, and he always liked to be aware of his surroundings, as much as he could. 

“Did you hear that young Alfred Jones has locked himself in his house? I’m sure he must feel awful, since they were his stairs Kirkland fell down.”

“And I heard that he lost a pet recently too, ran away. He was always too soft.”

“Well it’s been two months, surely he’d stop sulking by now.”

“I don’t know, he did seem very attached.”

“Attached? Childish.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be a learning curve for him.”

“Darren,” George’s voice interrupted Darren’s eavesdropping. The younger Darkie indicated the car behind him. An impressive machine - Darren had only seen them from the outside before he’d become a pet. Definitely the better way to travel. “Come on, let’s go.”


End file.
